


You Were (Not) Meant For Me

by ShanaStoryteller



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Insecure Derek, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Tattoo, procrastination fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:11:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanaStoryteller/pseuds/ShanaStoryteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claudia signed a contract to raise Stiles to be a powerful witch and Laura Hale's future mate. But then she died. Then the Hale fire happened. Then Laura died.</p>
<p>"At first, it's because it would be too great a disrespect to the sister he loved. To take her status in death is one thing, but this - it would be too much, like instead of mourning her loss, he's sliding into her skin and trying to call it his own."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Were (Not) Meant For Me

At first, it's because it would be too great a disrespect to the sister he loved. To take her status in death is one thing, but this - it would be too much, like instead of mourning her loss, he's sliding into her skin and trying to call it his own.

 

He has no idea what he is - Claudia died before she could tell him about the deal she struck, about the life she chose for her son whom she was meant to train to usefulness.

It doesn't matter; he's just as powerful as she promised, and that he wields his powers with clumsy ignorance rather than with the military precision she would have instilled doesn't make a difference . He fights this fight as he was always meant to, and when Derek finds his mouth dry at the splay of his fingers or line of his throat he thinks of his sister and does his best not to be sick.

Stiles wasn't meant for him.

 

Laura could have gone to him for help, but did not. She had that right - he was to be hers, her mate and her equal, and if she'd gone to him she may have lived.

His chest hurts, and he imagines where they'd be now, if she had. He thinks of her, beautiful and strong and wise, and Stiles with all his power that burns under his skin leashed under her, at her command. Derek knows that's how it's supposed to work, how it was between his mother and father and how everyone expected it to be between Laura and Stiles.

But Stiles runs his mouth and perseveres through fear, is loyal and kind even through biting sarcasm, and Derek knows if not for him, Scott would have either killed either himself or someone else by now.

Stiles would have made a terrible weapon, and would not have been the same mate to Laura as his father was to his mother, because his father deferred to his mother in all things. Derek doesn't think Stiles can even comprehend gracefully stepping aside to let others unquestionably take the lead.

They would have clashed, would have been two irrepressible forces of fire and attitude, and Derek thinks it would have been beautiful.

 

The mountain ash, at the club - it's enough to make his breath catch, when he has the time to breathe again. His father managed such a precise use of mountain ash once, and it left him bedridden for a week, the weak pulse of his magic only felt if they pressed their hands to his chest.

Stiles does it like he takes his next breath, casually summoning or dismissing the power to contain and protect as if the magic he calls to his bidding has ever before been known to listen this easily.

When their skin brushes, Derek can feel the burning heat under his skin, a promise of the witch he will grow to be, and when Stiles's eyes darken with lust Derek looks away.

Stiles was meant to be mate of the Hale alpha, but while he may continue this farce that he is any form of competent leader, he is not so arrogant as to assume Stiles is someone he may possess.

 

They would see Stiles around town sometimes, especially if they had to pick up Cora, and she used to tease Laura, saying that Stiles was weird and annoying and his arms and legs were too big for his body.

Laura would laugh, say, "He's going to be a powerful witch and your better one day, he can be as a weird and annoying and gangly as he likes."

Derek never said anything, because he always thought Stiles was kind of funny, and beautiful, for a kid.

 

When Stiles comes to see him after the spectacle of Jackson and Lydia, bruises and cuts still littered across his body, Derek lets him. When Stiles pulls him close and presses their mouths together like a question, Derek lets him. When Stiles grasps his hips like an answer, Derek lets him.

Laura was meant to be the alpha, and Stiles was to lead at her side. Derek was supposed to be subordinate to this boy, and when he gasps into Stiles's mouth, it feels both like a betrayal and a surrender.

In another world, this boy would have been his brother, but in this one he opens his thighs and runs his hands over Stiles's flushed cheeks, and when he rubs his thumb over his bottom lip and dips inside to trace his teeth, the quick curl of tongue over his knuckle makes his heart clench with the intimacy he was never meant to know.

Giving in has never been so sweet, has never been such a sharp ache of relief.

 

Sometimes, because he's sick and likes to hurt himself, he imagines the life they would have had, the pack Laura and Stiles would have created together, and the happiness they would have shared. He imagines what sex would have been like between them, and hates himself, because it would have been smiles and snark and kisses tinged with laughter, when all that Derek has is desperation in the movement of his hips and pleading in the bruises he thoughtlessly leaves, because he's convinced every time that it will be his last, that Stiles will leave, and he'll miss the sex, but he'll miss the trust and softness in Stiles's eyes so much more.

 

Stiles picks out the loft, although he doesn't know it, because when he shuffles through the ads in Derek's car, it's the only one that gets the half quirk of his mouth that Derek is fast learning to understand means approval.

 

His skin feels too tight when he's inside Stiles, thrusting into him with jerky, shuddering motions, and he pants into Stiles's neck, eye squeezed shut, because for all that it's wrong for so many reasons, it feels perfect and right and good, and those are all things that he isn't used to. Stiles comes and moans dirty enough that it makes Derek's teeth clench, and he pretends that's what pushes him over to his own orgasm, but he knows it's the way Stiles's hands clench at the back of his neck and hip, as if Stiles is trying to keep him in place, as if this is where he wants Derek to stay.

It's better, when Stiles is fucking him, Derek on his back with his legs high on Stiles's shoulders. He fucks into Derek too smooth, because Derek knows he's the only person Stiles has been with, and it wasn't him that taught the boy this even, slow burn pace. Stiles turns his head just enough to press a kiss to the inside of Derek's ankle, his eyes soft with affection, like he doesn't know all the ways Derek's damaged goods and a poor substitute for what Stiles should have had.

 

He dreams of his pack dying, of his family burning, of Stiles leaving. To his shame, he has a new nightmare, one where Laura lived and he had to watch Stiles from afar, to look but never to touch or to love, and it proves just what he is, what kind of monster rests under his skin that has nothing to do with the moon, that his worst nightmare is Stiles having all that he should have had, the wife and partner Laura would have been, so much more than the broken pieces left inside Derek that are all that he has to offer.

Derek wakes up gasping, eyes sticky, and it takes him a moment to feel the chest he's pressed into and the hand rubbing circles into his back. "Did you know," Stiles says, and Derek braces himself against the kindness in his voice, "that you talk in your sleep?"

Derek can't breathe then, and he's bolting. Stiles calls after him, but he can't do this, can't be let down gently now that Stiles has figured him out, so he runs.

When he comes back to the loft, Stiles is gone. He curls up on Stiles's side of the bed and presses his face to his pillow and tries not to feel like he's lost everything.

 

He doesn't see Stiles for a week, doesn't hear from him because if distance is what Stiles wants, Derek can give it, since he can give him nothing else he wants.

Isaac and Boyd tiptoe around him, and he can't even summon enough emotion to snap at them, and the one time he sees Scott the pity in his eyes is almost enough to make him snarl, but not quite.

Stiles walks into the loft after a week gone, and he doesn't say anything before he kisses him, and Derek lets him. He leans against the wall, pushing down on his shoulders so he'll fall to his knees, and Derek lets him. Stiles wants kisses and blowjobs, he can do that, it's not what he wants, but he gets to touch if not posses, and he'll take anything he can. He pulls down Stiles's too tight jeans, and he's staring at a tattoo, fresh, maybe a week old.

It's a triskelion, barely two inches across, on Stiles's hip. He presses his lips against it, two quick soft kisses, before he's simply leaning against Stiles and taking deep breathes in an effort not to start sobbing. Stiles buries his hands in Derek hair and says, "I found my mom's copy of the contract months ago, Derek. I want you, I choose you. I love you, Derek, now and forever, okay?"

Derek kisses the tattoo again, because he can't speak, and cries just a little into Stiles's skin. Maybe Stiles wasn't meant to be his, but he chose him anyway. If someone as smart and strong and beautiful believes him worthy of love, maybe he is.

Maybe Stiles is someone he can keep, since he's apparently decided he's keeping Derek.

"Okay," he says, ragged. Stiles cups his cheek, and swipes his thumb over Derek's bottom lip while he tilts his head up, and Derek looks in wonder at the boy who is the rest of his life, "Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm leaving for Spain in four days, and instead of packing I woke up and wrote fic. Whoops. Hope you like it!
> 
> If you want to follow/harass me on tumblr: shanastoryteller.tumblr.com


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